


I Walked with You Once Upon a Dream

by Nadzieja



Series: Christmas Stories [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is a composer, Aziraphale will show Crowley how much, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas, Crowley is a pianist, Crowley's Love Language is Acts of Service (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Human AU, M/M, Nervous Crowley (Good Omens), Piano Sex, Self-Conscious Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), They love each other, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), antichristmas zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadzieja/pseuds/Nadzieja
Summary: "Keep playing." Aziraphale whispers straight into his ear, but with a dark undercurrent.Strong and perfectly manicured hands wander on his chest to finally slide behind the collar of his black shirt and he misses a note or two, fighting to stifle a sigh."Don't stop, you're doing so well," the voice behind him encourages, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Christmas Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064207
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90
Collections: AntiChrist-mas Zine Collection, Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love, Top Aziraphale Recs





	I Walked with You Once Upon a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artemona89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemona89/gifts).



> This is somewhat a continuation of my "Magic of Christmas" fic, both written for the [ Anti-Christmas zine ](https://theantichristmaszine.tumblr.com/), but can be read as a stand alone:)
> 
> Incredibly talented [ @artemona89 ](https://artemona89.tumblr.com/) has yet again blessed me with her art:) (it's in the text)
> 
> As always, thank you [ brinjal ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinjal/pseuds/brinjal) for all your beta work ❤️
> 
> (This might be the most explicit thing I've ever written, you've been warned.)

I _know you, I walked with you once upon a dream_

_I know you, That look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam_

_And I know it's true, that visions are seldom what they seem_

_But if I know you, I know what you'll do_

_You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream._

_~ Lana del Rey_

Crowley squirms under the heavy blanket. Its pattern is awful, not something he would ever buy, but that makes it feel real and he needs that now.

It's not all bad, it's soft for one — just as soft as the angel behind him, enclosing him with one arm, the other holding a book. Crowley shifts again. 

" _Crowley_ —" Aziraphale says, sounding more fond than scolding.

"Sorry, angel." 

The room is dark and quiet, subtly lit by the fairy lights hanging around the window. It's the evening of Christmas Day, which means it's been exactly a year since it all began and Crowley still finds it a little bit unreal. 

It was a dream that bound them together, and sometimes when it all seems too good to be true, Crowley is worried he will yet again awake alone in his harsh lonely reality.

His fingers intensify the brushing of soft fibres in front of him. It's not helping.

"Dear, is everything alright?" Aziraphale kisses his temple, sets the book down and Crowley can't help but feel guilty.

"Yes, it's just, uh—"

He doesn't say it, but his angel understands without words (he always does). They've talked about it many times before.

There's a sound of clicking behind his back and then a soft song starts playing in the background. Crowley recognises it—Grande Valse Villageoise by Pyotr Tchaikovsky, one of his favourite composers. Then, out of nowhere, a low female voice comes in and Crowley chuckles.

"Once Upon a Dream? Really?"

Some time ago Crowley set up a Spotify account for them and taught Aziraphale how to change songs with his phone. He hasn't stopped playing with it since.

"A bit on the nose, don't you think?" Crowley smirks.

"Are you trying to suggest you're not my promised sleeping beauty?" Aziraphale asks, pulling him closer and burying his nose in the crook of Crowley's neck. 

"More like sleepless beauty." He responds feeling a little bit better, but still holding onto the blanket a bit too much. "Just don't tell me you believe in soulmates next, because that would be too many Christmas miracles for a lifetime."

Aziraphale huffs a warm breath onto his shoulder in a laugh. "I won't, never believed in them myself."

"Good."

"Although… everything we've witnessed so far makes me wonder…"

"...that maybe we're made for each other?" Crowley says in a single breath and it's just as surprising for him as for his angel.

Aziraphale murmurs his agreement into Crowley's shoulder and seals it with a kiss. 

"Time will tell," Crowly says, trying to sound more collected. Words were never enough to convince him, too big and too forgettable.

"Would you play for me, my dear? Like you did a year ago?"

Crowley smiles at the easy request that sends tingles down his stomach and wonders if Aziraphale knows he has that effect on him. But he is a professional, so he sits by the piano, fingers easily falling in place, ready to replay the melody from their dream—the one that joined them together.

He plays and enjoys the way Aziraphale melts into the melody, purring softly with his eyes closed. Crowley's fingers are nimbly moving over the keys and it's all too easy to imagine they're sliding over Aziraphale's waistcoat instead, excising the moans from him with his touch.

"You're so talented, _darling_." Aziraphale whispers and Crowley's stomach clenches pleasantly, but he maintains the pace.

Suddenly Aziraphale rises to his feet, his blanket discarded to the floor. Crowley watches as he rolls up his sleeves, his muscles flex to reveal the soft cover of blond curls and Crowley's mouth is already watering.

Aziraphale isn't exactly the type Crowley would normally lose his mind over, but he has, hasn't he? This unassuming, but classy man has turned his world upside down and sent his heart reeling.

"Keep playing." Aziraphale whispers straight into his ear, but with a dark undercurrent. The warm breath makes his body shiver, a deep buried want coils at the base of his spine. 

He feels the warmth of his angel's body behind him. There is some rustling, which makes Crowley taut with anticipation, but he doesn't dare to stop his performance or look behind.

At last, strong and perfectly manicured fingers fall onto his arms, wander on his chest, to finally slide behind the collar of his black shirt. There's a hot mouth scalding his neck and he misses a note or two, fighting to stifle a sigh.

"Don't stop, you're doing so _well_ ," the voice behind him encourages, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time, and Crowley's vaguely aware of his desperate need to get this right. He plays.

"That's it," the praise is accented with a smile and a gentle nibble at his ear. It occurs to him that no one's ever done this before—the whispers and gentle touches—it's overwhelming. He's been with people before—men and women alike, sometimes at the same time. He thought he hasn't been missing out on anything, but he has, _oh_ he _has_ missed out so much— 

Crowley's shirt is fully open now and Aziraphale's hands are roaming freely over his chest. It sends a bolt of arousal straight to his cock that twitches painfully in his too tight trousers. He has to will his hips into stillness, stop them from mindlessly rutting into the air. It's getting more difficult by the second.

Feather-light touches fall on Crowley's arms and neck, uncovering them as if for the first time. There are wet lips searing his spine, lighting Crowley's skin on fire. His fingers stumble on the piano keys.

"For Heaven's sake, angel…"

At long last some relief comes once Aziraphale's soft chest presses to his back, his arms and thighs enclose him from both sides as the man sits on the bench behind him. 

"You, _ah_ , gorgeous thing," next words are _moaned_ straight into his ear, punctuated with a little bite, making Crowley moan in turn. He feels the man's hot hard length pressing against his buttocks and it's maddening how much his pulse is throbbing with the need to touch. Aziraphale's fingers slide down his thighs, touching him everywhere except the place he wants to be touched the most.

By now his piano performance is lousy at best, so he risks taking one hand off the keys to touch himself to take the edge off his aching, but it is knocked off instantly.

"No, dear. You keep playing, _I'll_ take care of you. Is that understood?" Aziraphale bites his ear again and Crowley has chills. He nods feverishly, his mouth is too dry to respond, his throat too tight. He feels his cheeks burning, tight heat driving through the rest of his body in ripples.

"Please…" he whimpers, but Aziraphale's clever fingers are already by his waistband, reaching to take him in hand. The contact is searing, his hips move on their own and this time he can't stop them. A cry comes from deep within his lungs.

"I've got you." Aziraphale whispers, enveloping him with one arm and steadily stroking his cock with the other. It's slow. So slow Crowley's fingers are gripping the piano keys instead of playing now. No one before in his entire life brought him anything remotely close to this sweet agony he now endures.

Without any warning the man stands up, bringing Crowley with him. His tight trousers and black underwear are pulled down to the ground, leaving only his black socks. His nakedness is in stark contrast to Aziraphale's three piece attire.

He should have known better, because he knows Aziraphale and he knows Aziraphale _loves_ him, but he's never felt so vulnerable before, so much in another's power. It's terrifying.

"I've got you," Aziraphale reminds him, sensing Crowley's tension and lifts him gently to place on the pristine oak piano in front of them. His feet land on the bench and Aziraphale's arms hold under his thighs.

Before he can respond, there is a hot mouth encircling his cock and Crowley's back arches, his head falls back. Aziraphale's tongue follows that vein underneath, making Crowley gasp in shallow breaths, that in any other situation would be embarrassing, but not here, not now. His hands tangle in the soft curls, while the sharp edges of the instrument beneath him dig into his flesh. He couldn't care less. The warm breath on his hip is more than enough to make up for it.

"An— angel!" His voice croaks.

Aziraphale slides one hand up Crowley's heaving chest and up to his cheek. He brushes Crowley's lips with his thumb. They part easily, letting Aziraphale's finger move down his tongue, massaging it gently. He moans around them lost in the sensations, eyes only half-open.

Aziraphale pulls away only to replace it with his own tongue. He sucks Crowley's lower lip, tasting it like some exquisite dessert. His hand reaching down between his thighs to circle his entrance. 

Crowley digs his nails into Aziraphale's waistcoat, looking for support and keening in anticipation. Aziraphale is soothing him with his whispers and kisses, the tip of one finger pressing in.

"You're going to kill me, angel," Crowley huffs in between breaths, leaning to bite Aziraphale's shoulder through his shirt and scrambling to take off his velvety waistcoat.

"Patience, dear," Aziraphale says into Crowley's hair, his cock trapped between them.

"More, _please_ ," he whimpers, holding onto Aziraphale with feeble arms. There's no answer, but another finger joins the first and they hook. Crowley cries and attempts to push onto it, but Aziraphale's tightening grip on his right hip doesn't allow it. There is no rushing it, Crowley is entirely at his angel's mercy.

Once Crowley's muscles relax and he loses his mind completely, the fingers withdraw. There is the obscene sound of a zipper and, somewhere to the side, a telltale pop of a bottle.

A moment later Aziraphale is slicking his own hard cock and Crowley watches transfixed. The realisation that it's all his doing makes his insides squirm.

And then _finally_ , Aziraphale hands reach out for his hips again, lifting his thighs higher. There's the burning stretch of his muscles as Crowley slowly sinks over the head of Aziraphale's cock. He releases a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding and they stay still, while Aziraphale places kisses along Crowley's temple and runs his fingers in his hair. 

"You're an absolute menace," Aziraphale says once he catches his breath.

"You love me for it." Crowley aims for cheeky, even as he's falling apart. Hands scrambling to unbutton even a portion of Aziraphale's shirt.

"I love you always," Aziraphale says so softly Crowley loses all his composure, his eyes suddenly feeling all prickly. It gets worse, because Aziraphale continues purring into his ear. "Do you remember when we first met? You played on my piano. I wanted to have you on it so badly."

"Angel…" Crowley remembers, for how could he ever forget? Aziraphale kissed his fingers that day. He's trying to blink away what most certainly aren't tears. 

Aziraphale starts moving. It hurts so good.

"Does this feel real enough?"

"Yes," Crowley whispers and leans back on the piano, digging one hand into the wood and the other into Aziraphale's shoulder. He can clearly see the man's eyes glazed with desire, uncovered only for him, and just as far gone in this as Crowley's. For a while their synchronised moans are all that can be heard in the silence.

"You're so wet, so hot for me, _darling_."

Aziraphale's thrusts are even and shallow, but already drawing out all kinds of sounds of pleasure from Crowley's lungs. He squirms and digs his nails deeper into Aziraphale's shoulder. His angel is peppering bite marks all over his chest, punctuating them with an occasional deeper thrust that sends Crowley spiraling towards his own release, but it's not enough. He reaches for his own cock, but Aziraphale laces their fingers together and brings his hand away.

"Not yet. A little longer, my dear." Crowley moans, he can't. He's barely keeping it together now. The only thing preventing him from thrashing around wildly is Aziraphale holding him by the hips and stubbornly continuing at his own pace. "Just a moment sweetheart. I'm going to come inside you."

It's too much and Aziraphale must know it too, because he loosens his grip, letting Crowley ride out his pleasure. He's off the rails, bouncing like a coil that's been squeezed for far too long.

He hears Aziraphale cry out before spilling inside of him and then he takes Crowley in hand, moving in long deep strokes and it's not long before Crowley spends in thick pulses over Aziraphale's hand, and his still half-clothed chest.

His angel smiles and pulls Crowley closer, lets him collapse into his arms. "I like it when you go wild on me like that," he whispers.

Crowley loves every second of it. Even the things that would previously gross him out, _especially_ those things - their damp bodies plastered to each other, the crusty feeling of his spent drying slowly on his skin.

He holds onto Aziraphale tightly, definitely not crying and buries his face in the softness in front of him. He's not ready for this to end. "That was the best Christmas gift I've ever got, angel."

Aziraphale smiles wider "Likewise, dear. You're my most precious gift," he says, kissing Crowley's temple and reaching to the ground to cover them both with the soft, tartan blanket Crowley is beginning to tolerate.

There's a quiet song playing in the background and Aziraphale's steadying heartbeat in his ear. Fairy lights flicker on the lace curtains and Crowley can see the snow falling outside.

It's Christmas Day and he finally understands that reality _can_ be this good. If he only gives it a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello to me on tumblr! - [ @teslatherat ](https://teslatherat.tumblr.com/)


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